The Staredown
by Ivvory Shadows
Summary: A battle of wills between the Master and the Monster. First fanfic... ever... reviews encouraged!


_Disclaimer: I do not own Hellsing, its characters, ideas or concepts, nor do I own or make any claims to own any terms, characters, concepts or other material copyrighted by White Wolf Publishing, Inc. Any terms and their implied meanings that are copy written to White Wolf Publishing, or Black Dog games, are used for flavor with no intention of challenging their ownership._

_This is my first attempt at a fanfic, Hellsing or otherwise. Reviews encouraged!_

* * *

The tick-tock of the grandfather clock was the only sound to be heard. No other sound dared make its presence known. Only the impudent clock seemed unconcerned at its situation.

Fierce and commanding ice blue eyes locked absolutely with smug, indolent and wholly more dangerous crimson-tainted orbs. Hers held supreme command – the command to obey, implicitly, her orders. His held infuriating challenge – not of her orders, but of her very existence. Behind hers was a hint of anger, pride, and sort of expectant desperation. Behind his was the promise of death.

She knew quite well that if he ever managed to break the seals that bound him to her – powerful alchemy, dark magics and demonic bargains – she would be the first creature he killed. She had heard him be referred to as 'tame', and 'pet'. Fools. If she allowed any slack in the short, tight leash that bound him to her, he would use that lax grip to snap the lead and turn on his captor. He knew it, and she knew it. They were both comfortable with that eventuality.

They remained locked in each other as he tested those seals now. She could feel the warnings coursing through her soul; her very blood was alive with the sensation of resistance as he attempted to defy the magics binding him. She did not force her power forward… that would have been fatal. She instead slowly drew a physical breath, with it drawing from the wellspring of inner strength that lay hidden deep within her. As she exhaled slowly, she applied that force of her will to his seals, slowly, never allowing him to feel the full gauge of her reserves.

An ebony eyebrow lifted slightly, impish amusement evident in the crimson orbs, as well as in the almost non-existent chuckle that emanated from the room's shadows. She knew well the sensations of his anger, and the curious, perverse paternal pride that sang through the monsters being at her subtle strengthening of his chains.

Usually, she would have reached for a gun and shot the grinning, rebellious freak. He would have laughed at her tauntingly, and faded away, leaving her to her Ivory Tower. However, something in the air this evening had tasted different, something in his voice, his movements, had told her that this night was going to be different. She was used to his offers of immortality; his offers of carnal pleasures, his taunts on her weaknesses and her humanity being a liability. She did not entertain for a moment that he felt anything for her more than hatred and contempt, knew his intense teasing for what it was… a way out. If she died without an heir, he would be free. If she surrendered to him her mortality, he would be free. His seals kept him from ever harming her directly or indirectly, or doing something truly against her will, but he attempted at every corner to circumvent all of that by making her want to surrender to him. Only in her surrender would he gain the upper hand, gain enough strength and power over her to break her will… and thus the Seals. It was her will alone that made his supernatural bonds hold him so firmly in check. None of the others had held him with such a firm, unrelenting grip, not since the First of her line to bind him.

So they stood, inches from each other… one a radiant star of honor and pride, the other a black hole of death and destruction… Yin and Yang, completely opposite, yet undeniably each others equal.

That gently lifted ebony brow of amusement was countered and met with an opposing platinum brow - Had enough? and DO you UNDERSTAND me, Young Man! rolled into one. That was one of the things that had intrigued him about his tiny enemy, for enemies they were. She was so slight, seeming a wisp of a girl, yet she command with absolute ease, an air of quiet dignity, and the air of one who is rarely challenged. She was a force of nature, her will, mind and spirit finding no equal in his century's old memory. He hated her, despised with an unreal passion this girl, yes, but he loved her as well. She amused him, kept him constantly entertained with her wit and determination to be perfect. She managed more often than not to surprise him, something that had never been easy to do. He claimed her as HIS prize, his to kill when he broke these bonds, which is why he protected her so fiercly. An injured opponent is not as fun as a fully healthy one.

Yes, she was right. If he ever broke free of his invisible chains, she would suffer. He would make her death as slow and agonizing as possible, toying with her for as long as her fragile human body would allow… years perhaps. Her viciousness in battle had told him she would not die easily, her total control of her outward emotions told him she would never beg for mercy like so many of her gender. Of course, the final touch was his alone to savor. As she was about to slip free of the mortal coil, when relief from pain an anger and terror and humiliation and desperation had brushed it's icy fingers teasingly, promisingly across her fevered flesh and was about to claim her soul, he would deal the ultimate blow… he would steal her from the grip of Thanatos, and make her like him. It would either break her once and for all ((his most sincere dream was to see that moment)), or it would strengthen her beyond any creature imaginable, even him ((his greatest fear, yet oddly his most curious desire to witness)). She would either be naught but a broken husk of a child, or she would rise from her ashes and destroy him once and for all. Either way it happened, it was bound to be one hell of a ride.

Neither combatant moved. The hell-spawn had forgotten the beginning of the argument, and really didn't care. The ice-bitch recalled every single word that had lead to this, but knew it didn't matter anymore. The order was secondary now; the struggle being waged over the minced words was paramount.

He pushed the seals further than he had ever dared before, beads of blood sweat springing to his forehead. Her breathing was shallow and hard, as if she were attempting to move a mountain. Neither of them could afford to give in, an eternal deadlock that would rage as long as necessary to declare a victor.

Another presence entered the battleground, a calming, collected presence that crossed the room, placing her tea on her desk with a delicate rattle of fine china. The new one cleared his throat once, politely, yet pointedly. Had it been any other than Walter, he would have been ripped to shreds by the combined attentions of the Light and the Dark.

The Angel of Death looked on.

Immediately the red clad monster bowed mockingly to his stolid opponent, his great coat swirling dramatically about his long legs, his eyes not leaving hers.

"Until later, Sir Integra Wingates Hellsing…" he growled, perfectly polite, his gravel-like voice filled with predatory delight that sent shivers down her spine. She did not flinch as he gave one more silent, violent push at the seals. She merely nodded, agreeing with his silent comment that this was in no way over.

"You are dismissed, Alucard." was her icy reply. He faded from the room slowly, taking his will with him, not in retreat, but in promise of later confrontations when they would not be interrupted. She slowly relaxed her inner pull on the seals as she felt his shadowy thoughts caress her being.

Shuddering at the intimate contact, she walked stiffly to her chair, picked up the tea, and continued as if the encounter had never taken place.

The grandfather clock ticked its eternal rhythm, and the faithful servant quietly slipped from the room. The only other noise was the scratch of a ball-point pen as Integra continued her work.

* * *


End file.
